SUNDAY SCHOOLS.

A CHILD unable to read, is naturally devoted to idleness or perversion of mind. A man unable to read, is unfit for the chief part of those employments that require intelligence of any kind. Both are exposed to a painful consciousness of degradation in the presence of those who can read; are almost totally shut out from advancement in knowledge; are necessarily deprived of the pleasures of books, at once the most innocent, the most easily indulged, and the most permanent and exalting of all pleasures; and are, by a still more calamitous consequence, prevented from knowing the laws and precepts of eternal life for themselves. They must take Christianity as hearsay. The Bible may be in their hands, but to them it is a sealed book for ever.

In sickness and sorrow, in distance and solitude, they must be dependent on the time and teaching of others, for the great consolation of the trials of life. They must be indebted to man for the wisdom of God. They must rely on accident for the knowledge of the truths that can alone sustain us in contentment and holiness on earth, and fill our minds on the deathbed with the sure pledges and glorious convictions of immortality.

Every child unable to read its Bible, is a reproach and crime to a Christian people. The uses of a Sunday School are important even in point of public order: it accustoms the infant's mind to regularity, to attention, to obedience, and to respect for superiors.

THE SISTERS.

(A MORAL TALE.)

ELIZABETH and EMMA were sisters, but so unlike in disposition and character, that it was difficult to believe they had been brought up together. Elizabeth was the eldest, but was not so amiable nor so clever as Emma; which was indeed unfortunate, for children imitate their brothers and sisters; it is, therefore, important that the eldest of a family should be thoughtful and attentive, and set the others a good example.

But although Elizabeth had many faults, she possessed some good qualities; she was affectionate and generous, therefore, could hear Emma praised all day without being angry or envious: indeed, she admired and loved Emma, as much as any of her friends; but, if she had been more orderly, more obedient, and less idle, she might have been as much respected as her sister. But, alas! it was too true, that she loved play better than work; for while others were engaged about some useful employment, Elizabeth might be seen sauntering about. Nobody seemed to regard even her good-nature, because it shewed itself only in words; she did not take any trouble to be useful to her friends. The consequence was, that Elizabeth was far from being happy; indeed, how could she ever be cheerful, when her temper was constantly irritated by the just displeasure of others, and when it was impossible for her to be satisfied with herself. How different was the conduct of Emma! she was employed from morning to night; she was constantly cheerful and happy, and loved play as much as any little girl of eleven could do.

G

The order and neatness, with which she regulated every thing, saved her much trouble. There was no time lost in looking for things that were mislaid or forgotten; her books and work were kept in exact order, and her clothes in such good repair, that, although she was always employed, she had in reality much less to do for herself than Elizabeth. By such good management, Emma was able very frequently to assist her sister, for she had always time to make herself useful to others. She attended to all her studies to, with so much exactness and perseverance, that at eleven years of age she was, without doubt, a very clever little girl.

Near where these two sisters lived, there was a very pretty white house, with a lovely flower garden in front. A variety of shrubs grew around the house, which was half hid by trees and by the roses and woodbines that twined round the windows.

One morning the sisters received the joyful news that their mamma intended to take them to visit the family who lived in this pretty house. The eldest daughter of this family was about the same age as Elizabeth; but the most engaging person in the house was Marianne, the cousin, a clever, sensible, and accomplished girl of fourteen years of age. She was pleasing and polite to every body, and loved both Elizabeth and Emma; but it was impossible for her to take equal pleasure in their society: she could not feel much pleasure in being with one who took no pains to improve herself, and whose actions did not proceed from good sense and reflection, but from caprice or the will of the moment. The morning arrived on which Elizabeth accompanied her mamma and sister to pay this family a visit; she could not help wishing, as they were walking round the garden admiring the flower-beds, that she, like Emma, had remembered the names of many of the plants. Poor Elizabeth was so well aware of her ignorance on every subject, that she could not venture to make one

66

remark; while Emma and Marianne were conversing cheerfully together about every thing they saw. Elizabeth perceived they had almost forgotten that she was of their party; she turned out of the path into one which led into the shrubbery, saying to herself, "Oh! I wish I were Emma." In the path Elizabeth had taken, there happened to be a lady walking, whom she did not at first perceive; however, this lady overheard the words Elizabeth had spoken in so melancholy a tone: Why do you wish you were Emma?" she demanded, in so kind a manner, that Elizabeth, who knew she was an intimate friend of her mamma, could not avoid telling that she wished to be as amiable and clever, because every body loved Emma, and nobody found fault with her. "And cannot you,' " said this lady, "easily become as good as Emma ?"-" I fear not," answered Elizabeth." Do you really wish it ?" asked the lady.-"Yes, I do indeed."-" Then," said the lady, come to me to-morrow morning, and I will tell you how you may become as great and as general a favourite as Emma is."

66

The next day Elizabeth obtained her mamma's permission to go and see this lady. She set off as quickly as she could, for she felt much curiosity to know what the lady intended to say to her. As she entered the parlour, she heard her kind friend saying, "Come in, Elizabeth; I have been expecting you some time. Sit down by me, and let me ask you a few questions." Elizabeth observed on a desk, which was on a table, a large blank card: she could not imagine for what it was intended, until she saw the lady take it up. "Tell me," said she, "how many faults you committed yesterday? were you good-tempered all day?"-"Not quite," replied Elizabeth, for she remembered that she had been out of humour once or twice. The lady set down the figure one, upon the long card. "Were you industrious and orderly all day?" Elizabeth again said, "Not quite," and number two was marked upon

the card. “Did you speak truth all the day?" Alas! Elizabeth recollected that she had once deceived Emma, and number three was put upon the card; and thus they went on, until the card was nearly covered with numbers.

The lady then talked to Elizabeth very seriously, and told her that she ought every night to reflect upon her faults, and every day she should strive to correct them. "You are still very young," said she, "and before another year has passed over your head you may, if you try, become very different from what you now are. By the habit of self-examination, you may rub off this long list of faults from the card which I hold in my hand, and I may have the satisfaction of believing that you are as worthy of being beloved and esteemed as Emma herself! Come to me to-morrow at seven o'clock, and I shall see how many of these figures I may rub out. I trust, I shall not have so many to-morrow as I have to-night, and that in a short time I shall have no figures at all on the card. How happy it will make all your friends, to find that you have had the good sense to correct yourself of all your faults!"-"I cannot, I am sure," cried Elizabeth, get rid of all my faults, I have so many ;-I did not think I had quite so many."

66

The lady then explained to Elizabeth the reason she had never before found out that she had so many faults. "It is," said she, "because you have not been accustomed to self-examination. To-morrow you will, my child, pause a little before you do wrong, for you will not like at night to confess to yourself or to me, that you have not taken some little trouble to improve." Elizabeth ran home, and was, even after so slight and gentle a correction, much more inclined to be good than she had ever felt before. Although she was so thoughtless a child, she had a good heart, and as she grew older she began to wish to be wiser.

When she arrived the next day, she again observed